


Memorare

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-23
Updated: 2007-01-23
Packaged: 2019-05-15 11:31:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14789693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: One year and one day after Leo's death; plus a flashback





	Memorare

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

Memorare

CJ/Danny, mentions of others

NC-17

Through end of series

Not mine, never were, never will be, but they consume my soul

Feedback and criticism always welcomed

Note: My stories are written under the assumption that the Bartlet White House dated from 1/20/1999 through 1/20/2007 and that the events of Season 7 occurred in 2006-2007 rather than in 2005-2006. I realize that others see it differently, so please bear with my dates.

“Road to a Better World” is the name that I’ve given to the project Frank Hollis has given CJ.

The italicized quotes from CJ are the ones that are supposed to be the clips that Good Morning America is showing.

For those not in the US, many police and fire departments urge people to put “ICE” for “in case of emergency” in front of the names on cell phone lists of people who should be contacted. My friends and I usually list more than one person and list them in order as “ICE1”, “ICE2”, etc.

I chose ABC’s Good Morning America as the talk show because I’ve always admired Robin Roberts from back in her Sportscenter days on ESPN. I rarely get the chance to watch weekday morning TV because if I’m home during the week, I usually sick in bed.

\------------------------------------------------------  
 __  
4:10 AM PST, November 8, 2007 Los Angeles CA  
  
Danny Concannon yawned in the studios of the ABC affiliate in Los Angeles. After talking with CJ last night, he decided that he wanted to watch the east coast feed of Good Morning America. CJ had been gone for a week, first to the G-8 Summit in Madrid, then to the capitals of several smaller European countries. She flew into New York last night and, after the interview this morning and a late breakfast/early lunch with Toby, would be coming home later today.

He had told her that with the help of Hank and Steve, the couple one house up the street, the dining room furniture was now in one corner of the main room and the bedroom furniture was now in the dining room. Their remodeling contractor would start on expanding the bedroom side of the house on Monday. He could hear the exhaustion in her voice and he wanted her back with him as soon as possible, but he once again told her that he didn’t mind if she spent more time catching up with Toby and came home on Friday instead of today. She told him that she really, really wanted to be home by Thursday night, that a cattle car flight across the country on Friday would be even worse than one on Thursday and that in any event, Toby would be leaving for Maryland and the twins Thursday afternoon. He reminded her to call him from the plane when she could get an ETA from the flight attendant; she told him that she could get a cab. He assumed his “stern husband” persona and told her that he was picking up Artemis, Athena and her and that was the end of it. “I hear and obey, lord and master,” she joked. He told her that he had to go, he was taking Hank and Steve to dinner as thanks for the help with musical furniture, nothing fancy, just steaks and beers in the sports bar two blocks away, maybe watch whatever was on the big screen, typical guys’ night out.

After they hung up, he called Franklin Hollis, told him that CJ sounded very worn out, and asked him if he could arrange for one of the company jets to bring her home. Hollis was one of the very few people who knew about the pregnancy; they were waiting for the first three months to pass before telling most of their family and friends. Then he called his friend on the news staff of KABC and asked for the favor. It was only a few hours’ difference, but he wanted to see her face, to make sure she was okay.

The camera came back from commercial to Robin Roberts and she was introducing CJ. The camera panned out and he saw his wife. Last night, she said that her clothes were beginning to feel a bit tight, didn’t fit right, and another reason why she wanted to come home was the chance to get into things with elastic waists or, even better, no waists, and not to think about a suit jacket or a blazer for a while. She looked great to him, but he could also see the weariness around her eyes and a slight slump to her shoulders.

Robin was an excellent interviewer and they played some clips of speeches CJ had given as a lead into the questions.

_“Some have questioned the morality of spending so much money on roads and bridges when people need food and shelter. My answer is that the human race has a boundless amount of empathy and the people of the world eagerly offer food, shelter, clothing, and medicine, or the money to purchase same when the need arises. We see it whenever a natural disaster strikes. We see it when three whales are stranded in arctic ice. We see it on a smaller scale everyday when a house catches fire. We see it when a firefighter risks his or her life not only for the human occupants of that house but also for the dogs and cats that are equally part of that family. We see it when someone dies and friends and neighbors bring over food so the grieving survivors have one less thing to worry about. What we are asking is that those who, like Franklin Hollis, feel that because they have been given so much, they must give in dimensions beyond those deemed suitable for the rest of us, consider putting a significant portion of that contribution to making it possible for the generosity that is a tangible sign of this world-wide human empathy reach those in need in the most efficient manner.”_

Robin asked her,” So, CJ, are you saying that your project will not be seeking contributions from the public at large?”

“Robin, ‘Road to a Better World’ will accept any and all contributions. However, we will not have an active fund-raising division to solicit such donations with all the financial and human overhead involved with such a division. Right now, I’m the only one who will be asking for money and I will only be asking for money from those who are already giving and can afford to give much more.”

Robin then introduced another clip. “CJ, you gave a speech at Berkeley this past September and in response to a question about American foreign aid you gave this answer.

_“The question was, why we, meaning the United States, are always giving so much to other countries, but when we experience natural disasters, no one offers us any help._

_“First of all, other nations have offered and continue to offer aid to us when we experience an earthquake or a flood or a hurricane. It is the policy of the State Department to refuse such offers of aid. This is one point on which I disagree with our government. Believe me; I had this argument several times with President Bartlet and his other advisors. It was one of many that I did not win. Second, although we do give a large amount of absolute dollars in foreign aid, in terms of a percentage of our budget and in terms of a percentage of our Gross National Product, we are near the bottom of the list of the major developed countries in giving. Again, when you have been given much, more is expected of you.”_

Robin asked her, “CJ, would you like to expound more about this disagreement with the other members of the Bartlet White House? Did you often disagree with President Bartlet’s decisions?”

Danny sat up in his chair. “Don’t blow it, babe. It’s not on your shoulders anymore.”

He saw her take a deep breath. “My argument, Robin, was and is that when we refuse out of hand any help from our fellow members of the human race, we run the risk of two things. One, we set ourselves up to appear to be better than the other nations, the other people of the world. We have been blessed with much wealth and prosperity. Are there countries that do not have the values we espouse? Yes, there are. Are we the only country on this planet that has values? No, we are not. Am I proud to be an American? I am. However, had my destiny been different, I would have been equally proud to be Canadian, to be Australian, to be Swedish, to be a citizen of any number of countries. Two, in my opinion, we offer insult to these other countries; we belittle their sense of dignity and their need for self-respect when we refuse their help. Just as ‘Road to a Better World’ will not turn away the $5.00 contribution just because most of our contributions are measured in millions, if not billions, the United States should not refuse the $25,000 offered by an island nation in the Pacific basin that is grateful for the aid we gave it when they were in need and wishes to reciprocate. We run the risk of appearing to be arrogant. However, this is just my view and, as has been pointed out to me many times since January, these decisions are not on my shoulders any more.”

Danny smiled and thought, “That’s my girl!”

“Do you miss it?” Robin asked. “Are you glad you did it and would you do it again?”

“I miss my friends, I miss what we accomplished. I don’t miss the tension, the pressure, the total demand that every moment, waking and sleeping, be dedicated to the effort. Right now, I feel that I am doing something equally as important and I am able to have a personal life as well. Am I glad that I did it and would I do it again? To steal a line, to paraphrase Steffi Graf when she was inducted in the Tennis Hall of Fame, my profession, my time with the Bartlet campaign and administration led me to the man who has become the love of my life, so I will bless that decision every day for the rest of my life.”

The warmth in Danny’s heart spread throughout his body. He could see the others in the studio looking at him with a combination of respect and envy.

“Folks, I’m sure it is not visible on the air, but this woman is now glowing and there are tears in her eyes. There are also tears in mine. CJ, we wish you much luck with ‘Road to a Better World’ and we wish you much happiness.”

Cut to commercial.

He sat there in the studio. If he moved, he might lose control of his emotions. He should call her, tell her how well she did, how proud he was of her.

Good Morning America came back from commercial and the hosts were making small talk about CJ’s interview. “Robin, I understand that CJ’s husband was in our Los Angeles affiliate’s studios watching this feed live. That’s 4:15 AM, folks. I think we have a real-life fairy tale romance occurring here.”

He started to call her but his phone rang first. The caller id read “ICE1CJ”. (He remembered the day in San Diego when they changed their phones to list each other as the first person to be contacted in case of emergency.) He pressed “answer”.

“You are the most amazing, most wonderful woman in the world. The interview was perfect. I love you.”

“I can’t believe that you actually got up, dressed, and drove downtown just to watch me. Robin made the interview flow very easily. I’ve been told that I am being whisked away later today on a private flying carpet and that it is your doing. You didn’t have to do that, but thank you.”

“I thought about having your seat upgraded, but you would still have the airport hassle. You did look a little tired. I’ve missed you. This is the longest we’ve been apart since January. I want you back here.”

“I’m on my way, soon as I see Toby. Love you.”

“Love you back.”

They hung up and he turned to catch the end of the 7:30 news break. He looked up when he saw President Santos, Josh, and President Bartlet on the screen. The newscaster narrated, “A year ago yesterday, Matt Santos experienced the joy of winning the election and the sorrow of losing his running mate. There was a memorial service at the grave of Leo McGarry in Arlington…”

It had totally slipped his mind. And if one year ago yesterday, Leo had died, then one year ago tonight – .

_November 7-8, 2006_

When Danny heard the news about Leo, he was in New Hampshire, finishing his reporting on New England congressional races in general and Doug Weston’s loss in particular.

He stopped his typing and said a prayer for the man, even though he suspected that Leo had been the one that most encouraged CJ in her belief that there was no way they could have had a bit more of a relationship over the past seven years. He called his editor, told him that he was coming back, packed his things, and started on the drive back to Washington. When he stopped for gas outside of New Haven, he thought about calling CJ, but it was after midnight and he didn’t want to risk waking her on the off chance she had managed to get to sleep.

He arrived in Washington about 7:00 AM and went into a diner for breakfast. His cell rang; he saw the caller was ICE1Erin. “Hey, Erin, how goes life in the country for which you were named?”

“Morning, little brother. Well, it’s afternoon here. It’s fine. How goes life in wherever you are? You sound beat.”

“I’m in DC, just drove down from New Hampshire. The better guy won, but the best guy died. So, what gives?”

“Celtic DNA, Danny. All I know is that I needed to tell you that it would be good if you bought whatever you think you might need.”

Danny was quiet for a second. He and his sister weren’t exactly sure how much they believed, but they accepted that both of them somehow or another sometimes “sensed” things. “Thanks. Who’s doing what?”

“Well, Robin’s on a Shannon-Stockholm-Moscow-Paris rotation this month, but he’s based out of Shannon so he’s home periodically. Your older niece is in love with her third boyfriend of the term and your younger niece wants to be either a veterinarian, a professional tennis player, or a nun.”

“And what do you tell her?”

“That they aren’t mutually exclusive goals.”

“Tell her from me and Tim that poverty and chastity are doable, but obedience is the ball-breaker.”

“Well, use another term for the last, but email her, she’d love to hear from you.”

“Ho-kay. Look, I’ve got to clean up a little, go to the White House for a bit, and then get some sleep. Hugs all around and thanks.”

“You, too.”

He ate, took his kit and a clean shirt into the rest room and made himself more presentable.

At the White House, he tried to get Margaret or Charlie to authorize him but they were in meetings, so he tried for Carol. Carol got Will to give the okay to the front desk and came to get him.

“Hey, kiddo,” he hugged her. “How’s everyone holding up?”

“Well, so far, most of us are managing.” She wiped a tear away. “But Danny? she stopped him by a doorway.

“Yeah?”

She looked up at him. “Earlier this morning, Will sent me over to her office, in case Margaret wasn’t able to deal with everything and she needed my help. When I walked up, Margaret wasn’t there but the door was open and I could hear her talking. She said, ‘Gail, everyone else has someone but me. I mean, I’ve got you, but I can’t hold you and you can’t hold me. When all is said and done, I’m all alone.’ Danny, I’m worried about her.”

He sighed. “Well, she’s not alone, but she needs to be reminded of that fact.” He saw Charlie and Margaret in the distance. He looked into her eyes, kissed her cheek. “Thank you, Carol, for this and for everything over the past seven years. Keep your fingers crossed for us.” He went toward Charlie and Margaret.

He shook Charlie’s hand, asked about the Bartlets. He hugged Margaret. “Margaret, I can only imagine what you must be going through. You need anything?”

“I’m hanging in there,” she replied. “We have each other here and Bruno’s flying in later today.” She lowered her voice. “He knows he’s persona non grata here, and, for that matter, I’m not sure how I’ll feel about him, but he wants to make sure that I’m not alone for the next few nights.”

“I can understand that,” Danny replied. He glanced over to CJ’s office and silently asked his question.

“Danny, I know she would want, would love, and needs to see you, but right now she’s in the Sit room and then there’s a meeting about the funeral” slight catch in her voice “and the transition will wait for no one. I don’t know when she’d have more than a minute. Just let me check inside, make sure there are no state secrets, no KFC recipes lying around, and you can wait for her if you like.”

“I’ve driven all night from New Hampshire. I’d better go home and make myself decent, get some sleep. Could I write a note?”

Margaret gave him a sheet of stationery and a pen.

“You are not alone. Come to me, call me, whatever, whenever.

****D**** ”

He folded it over once and asked Margaret to make sure she got it.

Later that morning, Margaret did give CJ the note. She read it, and Margaret could see her shoulders lift imperceptibly, see a little smile start to form.

“Margaret, make sure that Danny gets one of my invitations. Here’s the address.” She scribbled on a notepad.

He stopped at the supermarket on the way home. He needed milk, juice, bread, cheese, and butter. There was a lot of frozen stuff in the fridge at home. He remembered that he was out of Tylenol and went to the pharmacy section. While looking for the pain reliever aisle, he passed the condom section. Was this the intent of Erin’s ESP? He picked up a package and put it in his cart.

The three open checkout registers were “manned” by two older women who reminded him of his grade school nuns and one young woman who reminded him of his older niece. He headed for the U-Scan.

Once he got home, he showered, shaved, and made a grilled cheese sandwich. He had changed the bed and vacuumed before he had left for this last trip up North, so he caught up on snail mail, and slept, off and on, for the rest of the day. At 7:00 PM, he pulled a chicken potpie out of the freezer and nuked it. Pouring a glass of milk, he sat in front of the TV and watched the news. He was dozing off again when his cell rang. The caller ID said WHITEH and the time was 9:30.

As soon as he started to answer, he heard her say “Is this a good time for me to come over?”

“The sooner, the better,” he answered.

“Thank you, Danny.” There was a catch in her voice. She sounded so defeated.

He changed out of his flannel pajama bottoms into a pair of jeans. He put a sweatshirt on over his T-shirt. Setting the glass and his fork in the sink, he threw out the pot pie dish and closed the drapes. Then he reached into the very back of the closed cabinet where he kept his alcoholic beverages and pulled out a decanter and a heavy crystal glass. He straightened the bedcovers since he didn’t want to bother with the pocket doors, made sure the bathroom was presentable.

He was opening the door before he realized that he had forgotten shoes and socks.

The agent made his sweep of the premises and she came in.

He stepped behind her and took her blazer as well as her trench coat from her shoulders. She didn’t seem to notice.

Without the jacket, she looked more vulnerable. He remembered an article from his copy-proofing days. The author claimed that the suit jacket or blazer was symbolic of knightly armor and that professional women should always have at least a sweater, if not a jacket, to put on when attending business meetings.

She sighed and raising one foot, she reached down and began to take off her heels. He reached out to steady her and she smiled up at him.

She was wearing a thin purple-grey sweater that reminded him of the heather around Erin and Robin’s house and a wool skirt that matched the sweater. She looked like Erin and her girlfriends did when they were teens in the 60’s. All she needed was the flip or pageboy hairdo, the circle pin, and the ballerina flats or Weejuns.

He poured a little of the amber liquid from the decanter into the glass and handed it to her. She raised her eyebrows. “Trust me. You want it,” he said.

She took a sip. He could tell when it hit her. She took a larger sip.

“Sweet Jesus, Danny, this is wonderful! What is it and where do I get some?”

“My brother-in-law, my sister’s husband,” he clarified, feeling the need to explain exactly why he had a brother-in-law, “is from Scotland. It’s the family recipe. I’m sure I’m breaking all kinds of laws having it,” he smiled. “And with treasury agents right outside the door.”

She finished the other two sips in the glass. He took it from her, put it on the table, and looked at her. Then he opened his arms to her and she walked into them.

He knew better than to try to stop her crying, so he just stood there with his arms wrapped around her.

After a while, he pulled her, still in his arms, to the couch and sat down on one end. Somehow, in the act of getting on the couch while held within his embrace, she ended up facing the back of the couch and him, her legs slightly bent and pointing to the other end of the couch.

She was still crying and still, he made no real move to stop her; he just held her and began to stoke her hair. After another while, he began to kiss her softly on her hair. The kisses slowly began to move to the side of her face as her sobs slowly decreased in intensity.

His mouth half-kissed her mouth and then their mouths met, still slightly. There were two more light kisses, open-mouthed but without tongue involvement.

Then the crying stopped and the kisses changed. His hands began moving over her back, and she began to reach under his sweatshirt. Then she reached for his zipper.

He took her hands from his groin, put them around his neck. He put his hands on either side of her face, and asked the question with his eyes. Do you want to take this to the next step? She answered with hers. Yes, the time is right.

He pulled her up from the couch and kissed her again, reaching under her sweater in the back, touching the camisole she wore beneath it. She reached again for his zipper.

Again, he moved her hands. She looked at him, questioning.

Many times, he had imagined what it would be like to make love with her for the first time. For some reason, it was always in his bed, never in hers, never anywhere else. He had imagined her in candlelight, he had imagined a fire in the fireplace in his bedroom, flowers, champagne; he had imagined many things.

He was a realist, an adult. He knew that he couldn’t put her in suspended animation and arrange everything that he wanted. The nature of their first union would be dictated by her grief and her fragility as much as by her realization that they were meant for each other. But their first time together would not be half-clothed on his couch or on his living room floor.

He looked at her, judging her weight distribution. She was, if anything, underweight, but she was tall. He had wrestled and lifted weights in high school and at Notre Dame. He knew how to move weight around; he could still clean and jerk 250 pounds easily. She should be a piece of cake. His left arm around her shoulders, he put his right arm just under her rear end, picked her up, and carried her into the bedroom.

He set her down on her feet and, still holding her with his left arm, used his right hand to pull down the covers on the bed. Then he ran his right hand down her left arm and, holding onto her fingertips, he reached over to the dresser where he had set the condoms and the Tylenol he purchased earlier and put the box on the nightstand.

He kissed her again and again she reached for his zipper. He sighed and again removed her hands. He reached under her sweater and lifted it off over her head. He kissed her shoulders, reached under the camisole to unhook her bra, and slipped it off from under the camisole. He moved her hands to his sweatshirt and she removed it along with his T-shirt. When they kissed again, the warmth of skin on skin and the soft pressure of her unbound breasts almost caused his knees to buckle.

He unfastened her skirt and it dropped to the floor. He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her toward him, helping her step out of the skirt. He rested her hands on his shoulders and, reaching under the half-slip, he ran his hands up the outside of her legs and thighs to her waist, hooked his fingers and removed her pantyhose and her underwear, again helping her to step out of them. He stood up again and turned the bedside light to its lowest setting. He moved her hands to his zipper and let her do what she had been wanting to do for the last 15 or 20 minutes.

Once she had him naked, he pulled her down to the bed and removed her camisole and slip. He knew that she didn’t want seduction this night. Her grief and all the burdens of the past two years were demanding that she join with him with primal sexual need. So instead of reveling in her body, in the shading of her areolae and nipples, in the softness of the pubic hair that was more than the mere strip most women carried in this day and age, in the contours of her navel, in the hollows of her hip bones, he moved to the final step. Although he was pretty sure of it, he did check to make sure that she was indeed wet enough to receive him. He sheathed himself in a condom, and, with one more questioning gaze and one more silent answer, consummated what had begun seven years ago in the White House press room.

She gasped when he entered her and he waited for her to give assent before he moved. Either it had been some time since she had been with anyone, or he was more endowed than the men who had been with her before him, or both. He hoped it was the last, but in any case, he felt a deep sense of male satisfaction that took him by surprise.

He ceded control of the situation over to her. He let her determine if it would be slow or fast, hard or gentle.

She pulled at one of his hands and moved it toward their juncture. He was able to bring her to climax four times before his resolve gave out and as he thrust into her one last time, he gave her a fifth one without benefit of his fingers.

He could have lain there forever, inside her, kissing her forehead, but, having done its job, the excess blood was leaving his genitalia, and, aware that one of the main causes of pregnancy with condom use was post-coital leakage, he clasped the top of the condom to himself and reluctantly withdrew from her. He wrapped it in a tissue, used another tissue to remove any moisture from himself, and drew her into his side. She was already nodding off. In other circumstances, he might have been disappointed, but he knew that she was emotionally exhausted, and, feeling tired himself, he pulled the sheet and a blanket over them, and gave himself up to sleep.

About an hour later, he woke to find that she had found her second wind. This time, she wanted to control the entire situation and he acquiesced to her wishes. He responded to her kisses. He let her know by his movements how to touch him, where pressure pleased him. He caressed her where she placed his fingers and his hands. She held his hands at his sides while she brought him to arousal with her lips. And when she knelt with her knees on either side of his head and grasped the headboard with her hands, he took hold of her hips and mouthed her until she collapsed on his chest. The only time he overrode her wishes was when he adjusted the condom she had placed on him before she lowered herself onto him. This time, she held his hand against her as she moved on him, and again, he was able to give her several orgasms before he reached his.

They didn’t sleep after that time, just lay there in each other’s arms. She went into the bathroom. He followed, to give her a towel and a washcloth, and watched her cleanse herself. After she put on her underpants and her pantyhose, he helped her dress, fastening the bra he had unhooked earlier, slipping the camisole over her head, zipping and buttoning the skirt at her waist. He put on his jeans and his T-shirt. He lent her his comb.

They walked into the main room, arm in arm and again he steadied her as she put on her shoes. He helped her with her jacket and her trench coat. They smiled at each other, kissed many, many times. He opened the door, and gave her into the safekeeping of her agents. Maybe it was his imagination, but he thought that the men looked at him differently, that he was now part of the team that protected her.

Closing the door, he suddenly realized that in the entire evening, they had only spoken 50 words aloud, and everyone of them was about Robin’s pot-still whiskey. Her glass was still there, the faint imprint of her lipstick still on it. He poured some into it for himself and drank from the opposite side, not wanting to destroy her mark on his crystal.

The next day, he opened the invitation to Leo's funeral that a White House messenger had delivered late yesterday afternoon. He had expected it, but was surprised to also see a card for the reception later in the White House. He looked again at the invitation. It did not say he was invited as a member of the press; at the bottom of the invitation was the notation “personal guest of Claudia J. Cregg”, with a number under the notation. An enclosed note requested that he be sure to bring photo identification with him. She did not come by that evening, but he did not expect her to do so. Friday after the service, they finally talked a bit about what had happened on Wednesday and made plans for that evening. Those plans were thwarted by what they discovered some four months later, while having dinner with Donna and Josh, was a high comedy worthy of Hepburn, Bankhead, Grant, and Stewart.

_November 8, 2007_

Of course, a day later, she did come back and he did have candles and a fire and champagne and flowers and he seduced her and she seduced him. And they did talk and the talking led to appointments with Millicent Griffith and tests and oral contraceptives and to being able to stay within her afterward until the degree of flaccidness caused him to slip out of its own accord and to some conflict which was resolved and eventually to marriage and a house and to two little lives growing inside her as a result of their love.

As he drove back to Santa Monica, Danny Concannon reflected that he was, in his own way, a man of faith, once again, in his own way, a practicing (“because I still haven’t gotten it right”) Catholic who believed in God and who also held with the spirituality of his celtic heritage. He knew that God intended for him and CJ to be together. But he wondered if it would have come about the way it did if God had not chosen November 7, 2006 to call back to Himself the soul of Leo Thomas McGarry. Would he and CJ have consummated their relationship, both physically and emotionally, before she had to choose between Matt Santos and Franklin Hollis? Would she have known that there was a life for her outside of politics and government? Would he have had any part in that decision? Would she have learned that she was on the fast track to becoming very good at “this”? Had Matt Santos not needed the support of moderate Republicans for a new Vice-President, would he have been inspired to bring his former rival into his circle of counselors, to bring about the best hope for true bipartisanship in the sensible center in over 50 years?

He remembered what Luke, one of the other guys in their suite at Notre Dame, told Tim and himself when they were burying Luke’s mom. “For ten years, God kept my mother’s body alive after he had taken her mind and I could never understand why He would do that. But all these past few days, so many people have come to me and told me how moved they were to see the way Dad cared for Mom, to see how much it killed him to have to put her in the nursing home last year. And I realized that God used my parents to show others what love is supposed to be.” Did God use Leo’s death to bring about other good things? Did He work like that, drawing straight with crooked lines?

Danny realized that he needed to think about these things on the beach or in a church or even sitting in a bar. The one place he did not need to think about these things was in a car on the Los Angeles freeway system during morning rush hour. So he remembered Leo and said a few prayers for him.

Later that morning, he went to the supermarket and bought the ingredients to make the Dungeness crab, avocado, hearts of palm, and asparagus salad that CJ liked so much. He also got the mango sorbet that she was craving before she left for Europe (and hoped that it hadn’t been replaced by some other food), a baguette, some flowers and some candles. He found the lace nightgown from their wedding night (and another, looser one just in case it also was a little tight) and the silk pajama bottoms his nieces had given him. He received a call telling him that the jet that was bringing CJ home to him would arrive at Van Nuys airport about 3:30 PM. Good, easier to get to and deal with than LAX.

He took a brief nap, showered, and decided, as he drove to get her, that he would ask her if, after dinner, they could spend the evening not talking, not even once.


End file.
